


Starting Something

by whatagoodboy



Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-01-29
Updated: 2012-02-02
Packaged: 2017-10-30 06:44:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/328917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whatagoodboy/pseuds/whatagoodboy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Yeah, Kurt's pretty pissed at him, but he can't keep slinking around in that leather jumpsuit and expect Blaine to keep his hands to himself, or can he?</p><p>(Sebastian-related angst and communication and FEELINGS herein.)</p><p>This began as a one shot--but a whole story evolved. Ooops?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Starting Something

**Author's Note:**

> I blame the leather jumpsuit. Oh, and the Sebastian Smythe.

"What makes you think I'm actually talking to you today?" Kurt huffs into his iPhone as he strides confidently though an annoyingly crowded hallway.

"Um, because you answered your phone?" comes the answer on the other end.

"Blaine? I am fairly gentlemanly--courtesy requires that I don't ignore a ringing telephone. It does not mean that I have to engage in lengthy conversation with whomever is calling." he says.

Kurt can practically hear the hangdog look Blaine is surely sporting on his face wherever he might happen to be at the moment. A long pause pretty much confirms his suspicions as Blaine FINALLY snaps out of his stupor and responds, "Kurt...I...How many times are you going to make me apologize?" he wonders.

Stopping in front of the entrance to his French class, and leaning against a nearby locker, Kurt inspects his fingernails for a beat before deigning to reply. "I'm not sure Blaine. I'm not a huge fan of passive-aggression, but I'm finding it difficult to not be a least a tiny bit so about all of this. That...that... _THAT_ , Blaine! How can you even stand to be in the same vague area as him, never mind talking to him _repeatedly_ and _on purpose?"_

"Sebastian, Kurt. Not... _THAT._ He has a name, you know. And, I've just been poli---"

"Blaine? I'm not big on raising my voice but I'm apparently breaking another one of my rules right now because _did you SERIOUSLY just remind me of his name, as if I am a gigantic moron? Seriously?"_ This whole, "I'm just being polite" thing, we need to address that too--how many times is he going to....to..." bringing his slightly hysterical high-pitched yelling under control, Kurt whispers sharply, "...fuck you...with his eyes before you stop being polite?"

"Eye-fuck me Kurt? Did you honestly just go--." Blaine blusters.

"Yes, yes, I did. Blaine. I went there and--"

"STOP INTERRUPTING ME! And, stop rolling your eyes at me. I can feel you doing it, and I'm outside in the parking lot." Blaine half-shouts into the phone.

 _Blaine doesn't yell,_ Kurt thinks, _I'm much more the yell-er in this relationship--he's been a bit more the yell-at-ee thus far._

"Blaine, I'm sorry I interrupted. It's just...what do you want from him?"

"I told you--I don't want a damned thing from him. He doesn't matter. DOES. NOT. MATTER. He's just...a mean, nasty, snot, Kurt."

Smiling a bit, his lips betraying his still slightly furious brain, Kurt says, "Mean, nasty, snot? Even your insults are dapper, Blaine."

"Kurt...just...shut up. I'm not dapper, I'm slightly more old-fashioned sometimes, yeah. But, dapper? No." Blaine says.

_He did NOT just tell me to shut up--did he? I...._

Pressing the "end call" display on his phone with a forceful stab, Kurt momentarily misses his old flip phone--wishing he could snap it shut viciously, aching for a tactile sensation matching his mood. Sighing, he slides his fingers across the screen, switching to "message" mode. Texting preciscly, he sends Blaine: **Yes, you are dapper. A dapper asshole.**

It's not until his French class is over--Madame Cotton droning on and on the entire hour, that his phone buzzes in his pocket--Blaine responding.

**Blaine: I cannot believe you actually hung up on me. AND called me an asshole. Really?**

_Oh. That._ With a blink and a side-eye at the screen, Blaine's words calling him out--Kurt has a moment of regret. Yes, Sebastian has been driving him more than slightly batty--with his sneering face, and fake worldly pronouncements--but Kurt has NEVER hung up on Blaine before, or called Blaine a name that wasn't an endearment or a lovingly mocking one.

Walking to his car, lost in thought, Kurt is startled by another buzzing in his pocket. Not feeling very positive about what he might be about to look down and take in, he turns his gaze skyward for a second, swallowing deeply before daring to read.

**Blaine: And now you're ignoring me? Shit, Kurt.**

Digging his keys out of the bottom of his messenger bag, Kurt is at a slight loss of what to do next. _Okay, Hummel...get in the car. Step one. Step Two? Talk to your boyfriend whom you've just called an asshole. Nicely done,_ he thinks with a disquieting lurch in the pit of his stomach. The heat caught in his car--a whole day of sunshine and closed windows concentrated into a ball of stifling opression, somehow feels comforting, appropriate, to Kurt as he settles into the driver's seat. Something about the warmth feels right--urgent, like a metaphor for the ball of aching and confusion swirling around in his brain.

Cracking a window just a bit, Kurt tips his head backwards to rest on the leather headrest behind him. Sebastian Smythe. God, he hates that man. Hates his name--finds himself irrrationally annoyed at the 'y' in Smythe. _Too good for just Smith, eh. Pretentious douchehat._  he's thought numerous times. The part Kurt is loathe to admit? He has a propensity to be pretentious on occasion himself. _What's that they say about being annoyed by traits you hate about yourself mirrored in others?_ his internal voice wonders.

Kurt just wants to hate Sebastian. Hate him with a simple purity, a single-minded, uncomplicated hate. He can't though. The day he and Sebastian had had their little "bonding moment"? Sebastian had let loose with a string of barbs that didn't hurt--at first. "Someone's got a hard luck case of the gay face, and it ain't me", he'd said. He'd spoken of having Blaine for himself, Nationals trophy in hand--while Kurt donned an apron and labored as a barista in the future. Kurt's dreams smashed by Ohio, reality, and his unflagging difference.

Oh, Kurt had fired back with a couple of honest, good ones of his own. BUT, it wasn't until later that night--while he had lain in his bed, staring upward at the ceiling, that Sebastian's words had truly sunk in. Nagging, stabbing, worming their way to the front of his thoughts. He'd been unable to get past, "Gay Face". Growing up looking and sounding the way he had? Years of dumpster tosses and hisses of "fag" resonate deeply. He always tries to shake it off--rise above, but here was this classicly handsome, annoyingly charming and smooth young man shining so brightly--plumbing the depths of his most feared and unspoken self-doubt.

And then there was his terror that one day he'd wake up and Blaine will have figured out just how not-perfect he is--how fragile and breakable he really is.

The fucking future. The very word makes him nauseated. Yeah, nobody can be absolutely sure about where anything or _anyone_ in their life is going to go. Kurt is no fool, he's aware, thank-you-very-much--but he yearns for time to slow down, for perhaps the first time in his life. He's been screaming, _dying_ , to get out of high school, out of Ohio--but suddenly? Time seems to be moving too fast.

Sebastian. Him again. Shadows lengthen in the car park and light begins to dim in the interior of Kurt's Navigator as he continues to muse. _What, exactly_ , _makes me so out of control about this guy?_

**Blaine: Kurt? It's getting late. I hate this. Where are you?**

Kurt can't muster the energy to respond. Truth be told? He's not quite sure where he is, metaphorically. He only knows that he's at a point where texts and anger and pissy indignation won't cut it. Blaine deserves more.

With a groan, he shoves his phone into the glove compartment, starts the ignition--and pulls his car out of the parking lot, in the direction of home.


End file.
